In the shadow-drenched land of Valmere, where the moon hung low like a silver eye and forests whispered secrets older than time, there lived a woman whose name passed through lips like a spell: Sophia. She was not a queen, though she wore crowns of flame and thorns. Not a goddess, though men dropped to their knees in prayer at the mere mention of her name. She was an enchantress—and far more dangerous than either. Her manor, carved into obsidian cliffs overlooking the sea, was known as The Veil. Few were ever invited, and fewer still left unchanged. Some called it a sanctum. Others, a den of beautiful torment. But all agreed on one thing: if you were summoned by Sophia, you were no longer the master of your own will. The door creaked open for Elias, a sword-for-hire known more for his defiance than his discipline. He’d fought dragons, survived assassins, and once spat in the face of a noble. But standing before Sophia, he felt more naked than he ever had in a battlefield. She wore deep violet silk that clung to her body like smoke. Her eyes, like polished onyx, saw through him. There was no softness in her smile—only promise, and power. "You've been asking about me," she said, circling him like a lioness. “They say you don't kneel for anyone.”